The Warden's Mark

There was no starry sky, no floating stones, no tea house. Just the rotting ceiling of the Koganji Temple storage shed. He was sprawled on the dirty floor, his cheek pressed against an old magazine that had fallen from one of the boxes.

"A dream..." he whispered, feeling a throbbing headache, different from the pain of a concussion. It was a deeper ache, right behind his eyes.

He sat up, coughing. The massive dark wood bookshelf—the one he had moved with such effort—was exactly where it had always been. Pushed against the wall. There was no black door behind it. Only bricks stained with dampness.

Renji let out a dry, bitter laugh.

"Of course. Post-traumatic hallucination. The doctor was right, I should take up fishing."

He stood up, brushing the dirt off his convenience store uniform trousers. The work was done, at least. The shed was organized. He could go get his payment from the priest and go home to sleep for twelve hours.

It was when he reached into his pocket to grab his backpack that he felt something strange. Besides the envelope with the cash the priest had left, his fingers brushed against a rough texture, like dry parchment.

Renji pulled the object out. It was a stack of black, rectangular papers, about four inches long. They looked like ofuda talismans, but instead of white paper with red ink, they were made of a matte black material, with silver calligraphy that seemed to shift shape when he wasn't looking directly at it.

"What is this?" he wondered.

Before he could put the papers away, he felt the burning.

It started on his right wrist and shot up his forearm as if he had leaned against a hot iron. Renji hissed and pulled up his shirt sleeve.

The air caught in his throat.

On the inner part of his wrist, where the skin was paler, there was a mark. It wasn't a tattoo, nor a common burn. It looked like someone had pressed a thumb made of black ink against his skin, leaving a perfect, dark fingerprint that pulsed slightly.

"Weaken the flesh, seal the soul, bring me the prize"—the Master's voice echoed in his memory, not as a sound, but as an implanted thought.

Renji looked at the black seals in his hand. They were the tools of the trade.

He stumbled out of the shed and ran to the subway station. He needed to get out of there. He needed to see people, lights, normality.

But "normal" had vanished.

Upon entering the Nerima subway station, Renji realized something was wrong with his vision. The fluorescent lights seemed brighter. The sound of the turnstiles was deafening.

He entered the crowded train. The smell of sweat was suffocating. Renji closed his eyes, trying to control the nausea. When he opened them, his heart stopped.

At the back of the carriage, clinging to the back of a middle-aged man sleeping while standing, was something.

It looked like a monkey made of sewer sludge and gray smoke. Long limbs wrapped around the man's neck. The creature had its face buried in the passenger's ear, and its eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light.

Renji clutched the stack of seals in his pocket. Do I have to fight that? Here?

The creature stopped. Its sludge head rotated 180 degrees. It smiled, revealing needle-like teeth.

He sees us, the hissing voice vibrated in Renji's mind. The Warden sees.

The creature dissolved into the air conditioning vent before Renji could react.

Renji got off at the next station, shaking. Tokyo wasn't just concrete and neon. It was a hunting ground.

His feet took him to the only place where his mind found order: Kuma Gym.

"Hey, Renji!" shouted Kenji, the owner. "Thought you were dead. Saw your fight yesterday. That hook was ugly."

"I'm alive, Coach."

"Well, if you're alive, come look at this."

Kenji pointed to the bulletin board. A new poster dominated the space.

KANTO FREE FIGHTING CUP - OPEN Any style allowed. 32 Fighters. One Winner. Prize: Professional Contract.

Renji felt a shiver. This was it. Free Fighting. The stage where he wanted to shine.

"Don't get too excited," Kenji said. "The Top 31 list is already locked based on regional rankings. Only one spot is left. Spot number 32."

Renji read the fine print: "Wildcard" Qualifier in 30 days.

"I'm going to sign up," Renji said.

"Renji... you have a record of 2 wins and 15 losses. In the qualifiers, anything goes. There will be guys from Karate, Judo, Muay Thai, even street brawlers. You're going to get hurt."

"I'm going to sign up."

He walked over to the punching bag. He needed to test it. The Master had promised power.

Renji took his stance. Go!

He threw the punch.

The impact was weak. The bag barely moved. His wrist hurt. The speed was the same as always.

"What?" Renji looked at his hand. "Did he lie?"

Suddenly, the mark on his wrist burned violently. The Master's voice invaded his mind.

— Fool. Nothing is free. I don't give you magic to shoot lightning bolts.

Renji looked around, but no one else heard it.

— The deal is simple, Warden. You find my creatures. You fight them. You prove your physical worth against the supernatural. When they are weak, you slap the seal on them. You bring me the charged seal.

The mark pulsed, sending a wave of heat up Renji's arm.

— In exchange, I use that energy to optimize your human body. I will push your speed, your strength, and your defense to the absolute limit of your species based on what you need for your next bout. Do you want to be number one? Then feed me.

Renji looked at the Free Fighting Cup poster. Then he touched the black seals in his pocket.

"So I have to fight so I can fight," he whispered.

And for the first time, Renji felt that the answer didn't cause him fear. It caused hunger.